The sewage tunnel continued forward into darkness.
The tunnel widened further before opening into a three-way junction.
Stagnant water pooled around their boots. The air felt slightly cooler.
"Which way?" Mara asked.
Dwordoug stepped forward, studying both branching tunnels in silence. He crouched slightly, placing his hand against the stone, feeling the subtle gradient.
After several seconds, he pointed.
"Right. There's a slight incline. It leads upward."
Levi nodded with genuine approval.
"Oh. We wouldn't have noticed the difference. A dwarf's blessing, hm?"
Dwordoug resumed walking.
"And also our curse," he muttered.
Mara glanced at him. "Are you referring to the old slave era?"
Dwordoug's jaw tightened.
"…Even after my ancestor fought to save the world," he said quietly, "the humans enslaved my grandfather and his brothers."
His voice lowered further.
"They built cathedrals. Palaces. Grand monuments to their gods, and forcing countless dwarves died doing it."
Mara and Levi remained silent.
The only sound was the slow trickle of sewage and their boots against wet stone.
"I hate humans almost as much as demons," Dwordoug continued. "But I will not betray my ancestors' work. Dwargonia is a peaceful dwarven haven now."
His voice hardened.
"And I intend to keep it that way."
Levi inclined his head slightly.
"They did build something formidable," he said evenly. "No human kingdom would dare provoke Dwargonia now."
"Not unless they want their cities flattened by our airships," Dwordoug replied bluntly.
They continued forward.
After several minutes, the tunnel abruptly ended.
A wall of collapsed stone blocked their path completely.
Rubble packed tight from floor to ceiling.
Levi tilted his head.
"Hmm. This is troublesome."
Dwordoug stepped forward and pressed his palm against the debris. He closed his eyes briefly, sensing through vibration and structure.
"…We're close to the surface," he said.
"Should I blast it with my magic?" Levi asked mildly.
"No," Dwordoug cut in sharply. "You'll collapsed the entire passage."
He examined the rubble again.
"If only I had a pickaxe…"
"I believe I can assist with that," Mara said.
He opened his palm and summoned a small pocket of darkness. The air folded inward like fabric being pulled aside.
From it, he withdrew a black pickaxe.
It was jagged. Ominous.
It also had a blinking eye embedded near the head.
And a smiling mouth carved into the metal.
The mouth twitched slightly.
Dwordoug stared at it.
"…Why does it have an eye. And a mouth."
Mara coughed politely.
"Ah. It is a relic from my juvenile phase. I was… experimenting… My apologies."
The pickaxe blinked again.
"…Better than nothing," Dwordoug muttered.
He gripped the handle.
Without further comment, Dwordoug swung.
CLANG.
Stone cracked.
He began carving a path forward, one deliberate strike at a time.
---
KABOOOM!
An explosion tore through what little remained of the ruined structures, blasting stone, twisted metal, and several extremely unlucky dwarves across the battlefield.
The Moth Pole—once a cold, miserable prison mine—had officially graduated into a full-scale warzone.
Scattered guards and former prisoners fired desperately from broken walls and crater edges. Across from them, rows of black steam-powered armor advanced in disciplined formation. Heavy. Methodical. Unhurried.
The ambush had failed.
Now the defenders were reduced to one plan: aim for the exposed hydraulics in the enemy armor and pray their bullets landed true.
That was easier said than done while artillery shells were falling nonstop.
---
Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.
On the eastern flank, the guards' own steam armors were holding better than the infantry. Thicker plating. Larger cannons. Slightly more hope.
But even they were losing ground.
They were outnumbered.
They were outgunned.
And they knew it.
Dancer's steam armor crouched behind a shattered column, metal frame shaking under continuous impact. Two black armors advanced toward him, cannons firing in steady rhythm, each blast chewing apart his cover.
"Dancer, this is Prancer," crackled a voice through the comm unit, "I'm coming in hot in 4… 3… 2… 1—"
CRASH!
Prancer's hammer-wielding armor descended from the smoke like a falling anvil, slamming into one of the black armors and driving it into the ground.
The impact shook the earth.
Without hesitation, Prancer raised the massive hammer and brought it down again.
CLANK!
Again.
CLANK!
Again.
The black armor buckled under repeated blows, metal folding inward like crushed tin.
The second black armor pivoted sharply, cannon rotating toward Prancer.
Before it could fire—
Boom! Boom!
Its torso jerked violently as rounds punched into its back plating.
Dancer.
He emerged from behind the column, cannon blazing, firing in controlled bursts at the vulnerable rear joints.
Steam burst from ruptured seals.
The black armor staggered.
Dancer kept firing. Relentless. Precise.
Finally, the machine collapsed forward, crashing into the dirt as steam hissed from broken pistons.
CLANK. CLANK. CLANK.
Behind him, Prancer delivered the final hammer strike, flattening the first enemy into an unrecognizable slab of twisted metal.
Silence fell over their immediate position.
The two black armors lay motionless.
Prancer straightened slightly.
Dancer lowered his cannon.
Three seconds of victory.
KABOOOOM!
Until a shell screamed down from above and struck Prancer directly.
His armor exploded outward in a violent bloom of fire and shrapnel.
"PRANCER! NO!" Dancer shouted, voice cracking through the comm—
Just in time to see it.
On a ridge overlooking the battlefield, crouched low and mechanical, stood a black spider tank. Multiple legs dug into the earth. Its main cannon still smoking.
The turret rotated.
Locked onto Dancer now.
Boom—
KABOOOM!
The shell obliterated the space Dancer had been standing in.
Luckily, he had already moved.
Dancer didn't wait to confirm anything.
He sprinted away.
---
"They're not bad," the Grinch Leader said calmly, watching the battlefield from a raised vantage point.
Below him, smoke rolled across the shattered remains of Moth Pole. Steam armor clashed in the distance. Artillery flashed rhythmically through drifting dust.
"Most of the guards piloting the armors are veterans, sir," a black steam armor beside him replied. "Good tactics. Proper maneuver discipline—"
"What makes you think I didn't read the briefing?" the Grinch Leader cut in without looking at him.
The pilot stiffened.
"…My apologies, sir."
The Grinch Leader ignored him.
His gaze shifted westward, where two of the guard heavy armors were holding an entire line by themselves.
Efficient.
Stubborn.
Annoying.
"Spider Team 2," he said into his comm, voice steady. "Focus fire on the two heavies to the west."
"Yes, sir," came the reply.
"And you," he continued, turning slightly toward the armor beside him, "take two armors and flank them."
"Yes, sir."
The orders were given without emotion.
The battlefield adjusted accordingly.
---
Western Front
Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.
"COME ON, VIXEN!!"
Donner's heavy armor shook violently under continuous shell impacts. He dug his feet into the earth, massive shield planted forward as cannon fire hammered against it in relentless bursts.
Metal screamed.
Steam vented.
"JUST HOLD ON, DONNER!" Vixen shouted from behind him.
Vixen's heavy armor braced its stance, stabilizers locking into place as he aimed his oversized cannon past Donner's shoulder.
Boom—KABOOOM!
One advancing black armor disappeared in a blast of fire and shrapnel.
Despite being outnumbered, the two executed their routine flawlessly.
Donner advanced step by grinding step, shield absorbing punishment and forcing enemies to reposition.
Behind him, Vixen fired with deliberate precision, each shot calculated, each hit catastrophic.
They had done this before.
They would do it again.
Then Donner glanced upward.
"…Ah, shit."
"Vixen!" he barked. "Spiders incoming!"
"Where?" Vixen demanded.
"Two o'clock! On the cliff!"
Vixen pivoted his cannon upward, adjusting elevation manually.
Boom—KABOOOM!
The shell slammed into the cliff face.
Rock exploded.
Dust cascaded down.
Nowhere near the target.
The enemy spider tanks remained untouched.
They had no good angle.
But the spiders did.
Four black spider tanks perched on the ridge above, legs anchored into stone, cannons angled downward with perfect visibility.
They fired as one.
Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom—
KABOOOM. KABOOOM. KABOOOM. KABOOOM!
The ground around Donner and Vixen erupted in violent succession.
"GAH! THIS IS TOO MUCH!" Donner roared as his shield shuddered violently.
"COMET! CUPID! WE NEED YOU!" Vixen shouted into the comm, ducking behind Donner tightly.
"Got it, Vixen," a woman's voice replied calmly.
---
Opposite Ridge
On a distant cliff, two guard spider tanks rose from concealed positions.
Their cannons adjusted downward with smooth mechanical precision.
"Sending love," Cupid said softly as she aligned her targeting scope.
Boom. Boom—
KABOOOM. KABOOOM!
Two enemy spider tanks detonated almost instantly, fireballs blooming against the ridge.
The remaining spider tanks reacted immediately.
They scattered, legs scrambling to reposition under sudden counterfire.
The battlefield shifted again.